


Vellichor

by FuriousPoplar



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (Gratuitous quantities), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Child Abuse, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Swearing, Twenty Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuriousPoplar/pseuds/FuriousPoplar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara likes their bookstore. They run it with their best bro, it's nice, homey and quiet, and every day their past self walks in the door and hangs around until closing. Sure, they have a different name, different color of striped sweater, so on, but if the small human child had introduced themselves as, "Chara MK2" they wouldn't have thought it all that strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vellichor

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I've committed a cardinal sin for introducing an 'OC' but I didn't want to just contrive this into some weird AU and force Frisk into their role so here we are.
> 
> For those sensitive to the topic of child abuse- you have been warned. Chara's past is mentioned, punches are not pulled.

Chara likes the quiet days the most.

They admit that this wasn’t much of a revelation. Even when they were a child, ambitious, short and hell-bent on bringing about the premeditated genocide of the human race, they tended to prefer when a day came and passed without a sound. Twenty (plus an ambiguous number spent dead) years later, they aren’t any different.

They’re rather fond of their bookstore. It’s got a small array of oak-wood shelves lined perpendicular to the counter, so they have a clear line of fire on any punk-ass teenagers who walk in and try to swipe shit ‘cause little Bobby Will-Amount-To-Nothing down the street dared them to start something. It’s facing east, so they get flash-banged by majestic golden rays of morning sunshine pouring between the gaps of the main window’s shutters every day. A bunch of the books are older than dirt because they’re stuck in the past like that, so the whole building smells like that one bitchy English teacher that everyone has at some point in their life— molding parchment and outdated textbooks about _Romeo & Juliet_. All in all, it’s a real homey sort of place. Which works nicely for them, because through the door on the left and ten stairs up is their actual home.

There are a lot of things they like about their bookstore, the short list including:

  1. It’s all theirs. They own the deed. They can rub the super official piece of paper all over their face if they ever feel like they haven’t accomplished enough with the gift of life.
  2. Who the hell buys books anymore anyways?
  3. People who still do are usually rather easy to handle.
  4. Most of the people who still do are Monsters.
  5. Most of the humans who still do are too polite and or senile to do any harm.



The thing they like most about it is that it’s quiet. Not a single soul roamed the gaps between the shelves that morning. So, instead of actually doing anything, they simply leaned back in their chair, put their feet up and absently scanned through one of the new novels they had gotten in the other day. They like to pretend that it’s their own home-brewed type of quality assurance, but they’re pretty sure that it’s just to indulge in the small, childish satisfaction of getting their mitts on something before someone else does.

They jump and tear a sizeable scrap off one of the pages when Asriel clumsily bursts through the door behind them, blinking in the glorious blaze of the sunrise and lethargically scratching buttery toast crumbs out of his beard. They muttered something nasty under their breath and contorted around to shove the book in his face.

“Look at what you have done.” They chastised, waggling the book for effect.

He stared at them gormlessly and suppressed a yawn. “What?”

“The book, idiot.”

“What about it?”

“For starters, you made me rip it. Second, it shouldn’t be by the counter. You were _supposed_ to have woken up and started stocking the shelves an hour ago.”

“Since when was I on stocking duty?”

“Since approximately ten seconds ago when you startled me.”

“You know…” he paused to let the previously oppressed yawn liberate itself, “I’d have thought that you’d be less petty by the time you got all old and wrinkly.”

“Oh, yeah, early 30’s. Better get my fuckin’ hip replaced. Bite me, Azzy.” They snarked, fondly.

“I love you too.”

“Did you sleep well? No nightmares?”

“It was horrible. Public speech, no pants.”

“Glad to hear. The new inventory is on the cart already, most of it belongs over by the arm chair.” They waved vaguely past the array of shelves to the corner of the shop.

“I’ll get right on it, boss.” With that, he dropped both claws onto the handles of the cart and began to shove it down the aisle.

“I slept just fine, by the way, thank you so much for asking!” They jeered to him, but he had already broken line of sight and was no longer obligated to wise-crack something back or flip them a fuzzy middle finger. They were about to pick up their _absolutely ruined_ book again when the door’s bell _ding-a-ling’_ ed softly. Wasting no time, they took their feet off the counter and rubbed away the scuffmarks their shoes had left earlier on the waxed surface, to try and sell the idea that they might actually be a proper adult who runs a legitimate, adult business.

They looked to the doorway and saw a young human child, somewhere around 8-12 years old, with a red and orange striped sweater and mop-like, auburn hair that hung down to their neck. The child looked about the store cautiously, as if they weren’t certain that it was safe to proceed into the jungle of shelves and hardcovers before them.

“Well don’t you look familiar?” Chara muttered, unsure of whether to laugh or simply gawk silently at what feels like flipping through a childhood photo album. They opted for laughter, shoulders hopping alongside an airy “hmm-hmm” that failed to break past their lips.

They returned to their book as the child picked an aisle to determinedly march into.

_If they need help, they will ask for it. Until then…_

Until then, they kept the book open to a random page, and looked under their brow down the aisle the child was browsing in, driven by a peculiar curiosity that they couldn’t quite justify. Something about their stature, vulnerable yet defensive like a cornered stray, something about the way they kept a constantly turning set of eyes on their surroundings, it sent shudders of deja-vu peeling down their spine.

More and more time passed, and the child accomplished only scanning the backs of a handful of novels that didn’t wind up capturing any interest. Chara was about to actually start reading again, for real this time, when it occurred to them that it may actually be their job to help people pick something out if they’re lost, even if that’s just so they don’t give up and leave without forking over any cash.

They resembled more an oversized, hairless, bipedal house cat than a human as they approached, steps delicate, posture well calculated. Hands folded militaristically behind their back in what they imagined a friendly, patient gesture. The child took no notice, entranced by the starred reviews on a book that likely only garnered their attention because it had a pretty cover.

“What are you searching for, little one?”

The child jumped at the steady tone and slow tempo, snapping their view up to meet their blank stare with wide, deer-in-headlights eyes.

“…A book.” Their own voice is one small step above a whisper, words cowering within their throat.

“That much I understand.”

 

A tremendously uncomfortable and _very_ long stretch of unblinking silence clued Chara into the fact that they probably seem _really fucking creepy_ to this little kid, and should probably not talk like the stick up their ass keeps poking the thesaurus they ate for breakfast.

“What kind of books do you like? I’m sure there’s something here to your tastes.” That was only a little better, so they gave them a patient smile as well.

“O-Oh… um, I enjoy Japanese stuff, I suppose…”

They hummed, faking thoughtfulness. “I believe there is some manga in the corner.” They would hardly count the “human history” as a _book_ , but it’s hard to say no to Alphys when she has a suggestion that she feels very strongly about, and she was quite adamant that the store should have a “little something for everybody”. It was, they begrudgingly admit, good advice— if it were truly up to them they’d have lined every shelf with hundreds of copies of the same eight or so novels and they would have wound up their only patron. The sentiment is especially strong when they glance over the child’s head and _Peek-a-Boo With Fluffy Bunny_ meets their gaze, insolently taunting their dignity.

_“I KNOW HOW IT MAY SOUND, BUT TRUST ME ON THIS ONE; IT’S A TIMELESS MASTERPIECE! A VITAL PILLAR IN THE CANON OF ENGLISH LITERATURE!”_

_“listen, i had my doubts at first too, but oh man, that part where the bunny pops out? classic.”_

The child piped up, derailing that particular train of thought with saboteur-like efficiency. “Oh, no, not that. I mean, Japanese, um, literature. That’s what I like.” They found an excuse to break eye-contact in the act of sliding the book of non-interest gently back into place, taking great care to keep it aligned with its neighbors.

Involuntarily, their face lit up in a way that their brother may have smugly described as, “like the night sky on new-years during a nuclear war”, but to their delight he wasn’t around to see it.

“Have you ever read _Kitchen_? It’s my absolute favorite.” They had to work to keep a rather improper giddiness from their voice.

The child whipped their head back and forth _no_ , hair lagging behind their motions and slapping them across the cheek.

“Well lucky you, I have a copy right over…” They had its spot memorized, in vain anticipation of the day that someone would maybe walk in and ask if they had it. Regardless, they made a show of dragging their fingers across the spines of irrelevant, lesser books, slowly closing on in the item of choice. “Here! _Kitchen,_ by Banana Yoshimoto.” They proudly plucked it from its place and passed it with great care and sobriety to the child, as if it were a priceless artifact of an empire long crumbled. They turned it over in their hands, scanning over every word they can find on the cover with curious fervor.

“Does that catch your intrigue, child?”

“Yes, it does!” their initial excitement faded quickly as they asked, “Um… how much does it cost?”

“Ten dollars, plus tax.”

 “Oh… I didn’t bring enough. Um, s-sorry, I’ll come back tomorrow, I guess.” Their heart seemed to sink along with their expression, drooping into a dejected frown. The frown became contagious, and it tainted Chara as well. They clicked their tongue in thought.

They can’t attribute it to anything but an empathy they still can’t quite describe when they kneel down to the child’s level and say to them, “I suppose that I could _maybe_ let you borrow it, for free…”

Their face brightened back up and their eyes glimmered with hope.

“… _However!_ You must promise to bring it back.” They lectured, wagging their finger in warning.

“Uh-huh! I promise!”

“And you mustn’t break your promise,” their expression darkened, “Or you’ll find out _exactly_ what I do to thieves.”

They visibly shrunk into themselves, tensing. “…W-What’s that?”

“I—“

Asriel, feeling sort of heroic, interrupted whilst passing by with a cart now empty on all but the bottom rack. “Please stop giving our customers death-threats; I do _not_ want to talk to the police again.”

“Oh, whatever.” he couldn’t see them roll their eyes, but he knew they were doing it. “I was only teasing.”

Their attention turned back to the child, who was now looking rather discombobulated and unsure of how to proceed.

“You’re free to run along, little one. Do take care of the book, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.”

“Oh! Thank you so much! I’ll bring it back once I’m done, I promise!”

The bell above the door rang once more as they left, marking the end of Chara’s responsibilities for the time being. They stood again and were about to go finally continue to read that damn book when Asriel ambushed them, arms crossed and eyes narrowed like they had gone and pissed on the rug.

“Alright, first off, was that book even appropriate for a kid their age?”

“It’ll probably be fine.”

“Mmm-hmm. Second, what the heck was _that?”_

“Geez, dude, I told you I was teasing. I was only going to say that they’d have to wash the window out front or something.”

“No not that, like— the _rest_ of it. Getting chummy with the human kid and being nice to them, what’s that all about?”

“Would you have preferred it if I had chopped them up and cooked them into a stew?”

“ _No_ ,” he snapped back, irritated. “It’s super weird, is all. You usually don’t— “

 “Act nice at all?” They cut him off, arms folded across their chest.

“—Even talk to humans when you don’t absolutely have to, don’t cut me off like that. I don’t see why you’re changing your buy-the-book-and-piss-off stance, all of a sudden.”

They broke eye-contact with a sigh and stared off into nowhere. “I don’t know. I suppose they reminded me of myself, or Frisk, somehow.”

“What, you gonna start hugging every kid with a striped sweater and messy hair that walks through the front door?”

“Not just that, they seemed… I don’t know. I just don’t know, alright?”

 

He grew uncomfortable with the pause now weighing down on both of them. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. What’d you say to that guy blasting music through his headphones the other day, again?”

“I said…” they paused, to remember the details. “That if he, ‘didn’t turn that goddamn synth horseshit off or take it outside my store that I was going to strangle him with the cord’“.

“Right. That was fun to explain. Good thing 01 and 02 haven’t retired yet… how many more favors do we have with them, do you think?”

“If they won’t do it for us, they’ll do it if Frisk asks them to. They owe their marriage to that armor polishing.”

“Uh-huh. And do ya think that Frisk’ll bail you out if they find out that you’ve been threatening to strangle people again?”

“They’d better, or I’ll fucking strangle them.”

 

 

            They awaken before Asriel once again the next morning, and left him the slice of toast they burnt the worst and a cup of coffee that they decided to let grow cold instead of dumping all over his face to wake him up. Let the hellish cruelty of room-temperature breakfast serve as punishment for his sloth.

They’re about to flip the sign over from “ ~~Sorry,~~ Bugger off, We’re Closed” to “Open” when they see nobody else but Mx. red-and-orange-stripey-shirt, sitting cross-legged and patient on the other side of the door, with _Kitchen_ in their lap. A muffled _click_ rang from inside the door’s lock shortly before they pulled it open.

“Done already?”

The child leapt to their feet and looked brightly up at them, excitement swimming in their eyes. “Yes, I am! I loved it so much; I think it’s my new favorite, too!”

They can’t help but grin ear-to-ear. “I had a hunch that you would enjoy it. I am pleased to see that you brought it back, as well.”

Something new, sly and malevolent, glimmered in the child’s expression. “W-Well, not for long…”

They quirked a curious eyebrow. “It would be most strange for you to run off with it _now._ How would you ever escape?”

“I’ll um, leave ten dollars plus tax as a distraction.”

“Ah. A re-reader, huh? I would be happy to ring it up for you. Follow me, please.”

 

Most of the money is in loose change, old and dirty. It appeared to have been scavenged from a slew of couch cushions and unsupervised countertops. They and the child worked silently together to total the coinage, before it is thrown as one haphazard mass into the register and sealed away for later.

Deal complete, they handed the book ceremoniously over to the child. “There we are. All yours! With any luck, one day it will be as torn-up and dog-eared as my own copy.”

“Thanks! Oh, by the way, I never got your name. Mine’s Farah.”

“That’s a nice name.” They asserted, more as a fact than a compliment. Courteously, they extended their hand over the countertop. “I am Chara. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They hesitated for a moment before shaking their hand and giving a weak smile. “It’s um, it’s nice to meet you too…

“So, uh, hey, listen…” any confidence left in their tone abruptly vanished as they remembered their shyness, the moment having worn off. “That’s all the money I brought, but, um… I was wondering if I could stay here for a while and um, browse a bit more, and maybe do some… sample… reading? J-Just to see if there’s anything I’d like to get next time.”

They took a quiet break to themselves to tally up the number of times that Farah had bashfully broken eye contact and twiddled their thumbs. They counted about six.

They leered over the counter with hands on their hips and a caricaturized sneer splayed out across their face. “What, you want to _read?_ In _my_ store? What on earth does this place look like to you, some kind of _library?_ ”

One… Two… Three awkward moments passed by without a word.

Farah broke their personal bravery record by peeping a frail, borderline tearful, “U-Um… a… a l-little?” whilst helplessly glancing about at the (not so) innumerable shelves, all filled to bursting with reading material.

They sighed exhaustedly and resisted the temptation to roll their eyes. “I’m only joking, Farah. There’s a big comfy chair off in the corner of the shop, you’re more than welcome to use it.”

“Oh! Um, thank you.”

“Don’t mention—“

**_SLAM!_ **

Asriel, inconsiderately and with poor timing, chose that exact moment to once again crash his way through the door, once again scaring them senseless. He was sort of doing it on purpose that time, because he relished every opportunity to annoy them. You know, like an asshole.

“JESUS SHI— WOULD YOU _STOP FUCKING DOING THAT!?_ ” They reeled and screeched at the slouching, sleepy goat, hissing loud and squeaky like a fresh slab of ham frying on the stove.

Asriel’s eyes slowly widened in amused shock and Chara’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as they both realized who had been standing present for the exchange.

“Ah… would you kindly…” their voice dropped to a pathetic whisper, “Stop… _freaking…_ doing that, please and uh, thank you.”

The tension in Farah’s shoulders released and they covered their mouth with both hands to try and hide the exact degree to which they were losing their shit. Chara simply dropped their head to the counter, smothering their face in the sleeves of their sweater.

Asriel put on a big dopey grin and drawled, oh so very full of himself, “Hey Chara…”

“ _Mmmh?”_

“Swear jar.”

They lifted their head for air. “We don’t _have_ one anymore, I had to smash the thing because it was bankrupting us, remember?”

Farah giggled yet again.

“What are _you_ looking at?”

“Who, me?” they pointed to themselves, making a show of fake innocence. They wished that they could materialize a little glowing halo above their head. “Oh, nothing.” With that, they retreated into the depths of the shop.

 

“So uh,” Asriel broke a silence that hadn’t time enough to fully form. “Did you sleep okay? No nightmares?”

“I stabbed Sans again, it was great.”

He stood frozen aghast for a lingering moment before they dispelled his horror.

“Kidding.”

“That’s not funny. Don’t ever joke about shit like that, especially when…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “That’s seriously not funny.”

“No, it isn’t…

 

“You forgot to actually finish stocking the books yesterday, by the way.”

“Pardon me?”

They gestured dismissively to the cart. “The bottom row, smarty-pants. You seem to have forgotten it.”

“Well golly,” he eagerly put the usual cheer back into his tone, happy for the change in subject matter. “I don’t know what to say. I guess I was distracted when you turned into Mom for five minutes.”

“What? Wait…  I don’t sound like her, do I?”

“You sure do when you talk to that kid.” he folded his hands together and sing-songed a crude mockery of Toriel’s voice “‘You’re free to run along, little one!’”

“You shut your face.”

“’For no reason in particular, which do you prefer; Japanese or English literature?’”

“Oh fuck,” they buried their head back into their sleeves, head hitting the countertop with a muffled _thump_ “I’m _old._ ”

He gave them a condescending pat on the back before pushing the cart away once again.

 

…

 

            Farah hadn’t bothered dancing around the issue, this time. They simply grabbed a random book off the nearest shelf and started reading, hoping that luck was on their side and that it wouldn’t be a waste of time. They stole a glance at _Kitchen,_ lying on the coffee table a few feet away from the leather chair. It almost makes them feel sad to see it now— they doubt that they’ll find something that they can enjoy the same way for some time.

But, hey, the book they have now doesn’t seem too bad. So far it looks like it’s all about war and blood and killing, and when they flip to the middle out of curiosity they catch a glimpse of a man being ground into a bloody, twitching pulp of loose intestines and ripped sinews by a hailstorm of machinegun fire, all in excruciating detail.

_This could be fun._

Engrossed ( _En-Gross-ed, literally!_ They laughed to themselves.) in the story, they didn’t notice when someone rounded the corner pushing a grey steel cart, not until he spoke.

“Howdy!” The voice’s sound suggested the possibility of thundering power and great authority, yet assured that it will remain placated. Despite its warmth, they seized up for a moment and silently cursed the flinch that they’ve become stuck with. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Stood across from them was that strange goat-looking fellow from earlier. They weren’t about to lie to themselves— he scared them shitless. Seven feet tall. Razor sharp horns and broad, powerful shoulders. If he wanted to, he could have folded them over backwards until the back of their broken neck met their ankles. But, and this was one thankful but, he seemed as friendly as they came (excluding his habit of smashing through doors, they weren’t overly appreciative of that). Probably hadn’t ever even hurt someone in his life.

_Probably…_

He voiced his concern and brought them back to reality. “You okay there, buddy?”

“Oh! Yes, I’m… f-fine.”

“Is something wrong? You don’t sound fine.”

“N… well, it’s just that, um…”

He gave an understanding grin. “Haven’t seen many monsters before?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Hey, no worries. Heck, be glad you didn’t run into Muffet first. One of the sweetest ladies I know, and she couldn’t count on six hands the number of times she’s been pepper-sprayed, just walking down the street. Poor thing…”

“Humans are such jerks.” They muttered, shaking their head in disgust.

He gave a dry chuckle. “Starting to sound like Chara, there.”

They looked at him curiously, tilting their head slightly to their right.

“They…” he paused, trying to find words a bit more delicate than he’d normally use for describing their attitude. “Well, let’s just say that they prefer monsters, quite strongly so.”

“ _Oh,_ ” they smirked, knowingly, “I see.”

“Uh… pardon?”

“If you, um, don’t mind me asking, are they your…” they trailed off and furrowed their brow, uncertain on which term to use. “Your _intended_?”

“No! No, they’re just my sibling.”

They gave him a _do you seriously expect me to believe that_ look.

“ _…_ They were adopted. Anyway, moving on, I’m Asriel. What’s your name?”

“Farah.”

He smiled warmly. “That’s a nice name.”

“I’ve been told.” They said, pretending to be bored.

He gave another short laugh, amused and just the slightest bit speechless.

_Like a time capsule…_

He asked them about the book they were reading (“That’s a family-friendly novel about the horrors of war, right?”) as he returned to his sacred duty as errand-boy.

 

…

           

            Farah’s attendance to the store was consistent, to say the least. Nearly every day, from opening to closing, they were “sample reading” their latest find from cover to cover or looking for something else. Chara felt as if the lack of monetary exchange should perhaps, as a business owner, bother them, but they couldn’t bring themselves to mind. That was for the best, anyway. If Asriel tattled to Mom that they had gotten their knickers in a twist over a kid having a passion for reading, the lecture wouldn’t have ended until she had finally croaked of old age and fell over dead. Besides that, the kid swiftly became part of their morning routine, as much a part of their day as breakfast or their brother forgetting what his fucking alarm clock is for. They’re a welcome part of the routine, as well. Having a third-party taking place in the unending, bloody war of snark that took place every hour of every day between them and Asriel was both a nice change of pace and an excellent way to settle petty debates, even if Farah tended to pick sides depending not on what they actually thought but on who would be more annoyed if they were disagreed with (meaning that they quickly became Asriel’s favorite little advocate). Their company was often a marvelous time-killer; once Farah had, miraculously, worked up the confidence to ask, Chara and Asriel found themselves spending most of their days helping them read some of the tougher books, tagging out whenever a customer actually did show up.

There were, however, perhaps not _breaks_ in the routine, but there were oddities. Every now and then, they couldn’t help but notice that Farah can act _strange_ ; very cagey about certain subjects, quick to change them as fast as they can manage. Among these oddities is why they don’t simply go to the library, which would obviously have a larger repertoire of material.

“Farah, do not get the impression that I am bothered by your presence …” they started one partly-sunny summer morning as they met the child by the front door. “But I am most curious as to why you would come here before the librarby.”

“The what?”

“Er, the Library, sorry. Old habits die hard.”

“Oh. Um,” they hesitated, “It’s too far from my house to walk there.” A logical answer, granted, but…

"You clearly have a great passion for reading; you are unable convince your parents to drive you?"

“N-No. They’re um, they’re too busy. Work and stuff.”

A thought entered their mind uninvited and unnoticed, but leaves just as quickly. “Fair enough.”

 

Another oddity was when they had arrived one morning wearing a thick woolen beanie that sagged down to their eyebrows, hiding their forehead behind a barrier of fleece.

“What on earth are you wearing that hat for?” They had asked, mentally re-checking that morning’s weather report. It was supposed to be blisteringly hot today.

“I like it. It’s a comfortable hat. I get cold easily.” Their matter-of-factness caught Chara off guard.

“…Okay. If you insist. Please do take it off when you walk home, however. I’d prefer it rather strongly if you did not die of heat-stroke.”

“Alright. I’ll um, make sure to get hit by a truck instead, then.”

“Not in front of the store.” they said, deadpan. “I’m going to be furious if I have to hose your guts off my window.”

“You wouldn’t just make Asriel do it?”

They beamed with tremendous pride. “Oh, that would be hilarious! The blood would stain his fur so badly…” They trailed off and gazed into nowhere, lost in delighted wonderment.

“O-Okay, um, that’s actually kinda gross.”

Oblivious, they continued. “Even if he showered, it wouldn’t come out. He’d be dyed pink for weeks.”

“Chara please.”

“Lumps of flesh would get matted in his hair…”

“I’m gonna puke on your shoes!”

“I’ll make him clean that up, too.”

And just like that, their suspicion had dissipated, forgotten for the moment. Just another unspoken thought gone to the wind. Maybe they really did just like that hat. Maybe they really were just too far away from the library. Maybe they really were just a shy child with a nervous temperament. It didn’t have to mean anything. They’ve made the mistake of hasty assumptions before, haven’t they? They’re not them. They’re not.

 

 

            Farah approached the counter with a confidence that Chara and Asriel both strongly suspected that they only ever had inside the confines of the shop. After a few weeks, it had become something of a second home to them— Asriel even made sure, when he was making lunch (because his sibling couldn’t be trusted with anything more culinarily complex than, on a good day, taking raw bread out of the bag), that he put together an extra grilled cheese or two.

“Hey, guys!”

“Howdy, Farah!”

“Well hello again, little one. I’m going to take a stab in the dark and guess you enjoyed the latest read?” Chara smiled self-assuredly. They always had a certain aloof absentmindedness whenever they finished something they liked, caught up in mulling endlessly over the ending and deeper meanings.

“Hmm?” they paused, forgetting briefly what words were and the meanings behind them. “Oh, yes, it was really good!”

Chara raised their eyebrow, mockingly. “Good enough to actually buy?”

“O-Oh… um… I…”

“Oh, come on, man!” their hand shot up to clutch at their forehead. “You’re bleeding me dry over here! Goodness, any more of this ‘sample reading’ and I think I’ll have to send the leg-breakers after you.”

Farah looked to the floor in shame and whispered back, “S-Sorry…”

“They’re just messing with you again, kid. They’re too cheap to hire leg-breakers.” Asriel interjected from his own chair behind the counter, looking up from a new batch of god-awful puns Mom had sent him on his phone.

“You _seriously_ must learn to take a joke. The whole ‘everything-at-face-value’ thing was endearing at first, but it has grown somewhat tiresome. You understand that I would never, as long as I live, mean you any harm, right?”

They continued to stare at the ground. “R-Right.”

Chara adopted a tone of what they imagined being reassuring. “E-Exactly! Relax.”

Farah’s eyes widened and their cheeks flushed bright red for a brief moment, before all expression drained from their face.

They responded, cold, steady and painfully slow, “Yes. I will. I’ll go back to reading now.”

Chara’s smile curdled into something regretful as Farah stormed back to their usual spot, now shaking ever so slightly.

“Was that too far?”

Asriel stared at them in disbelief. “Did you seriously just make fun of their stutter?”

Their gaze fell to the countertop. “Y-Yeah.”

 _“Chara!”_ he hissed, “ _What the fuck is wrong with you!?”_

“Wait, no, that last one was real! I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have…” they trailed off, voice hushed. “I think I owe them an apology.”

“I’d say so. You wouldn’t do something like that to Alphys, or Napstablook, would you?”

“Alphys, I would and I have. She thought it was pretty funny. Never Blooky, though. Their poor, self-conscious little heart wouldn’t be able to take it.”

 

 

            They found Farah sitting on the floor with knees to their chest, propped stiffly against one of the shelves. There was no mistaking the look of betrayal on their face.

“Hey.” they said blankly, sitting themselves next to them. “I owe you an apology. It was wrong of me to— “

“Tell me,” they interrupted, “Are you here to apologize because you are sorry, or is it simply to make yourself look good?” Their voice was crystal clear and brittle like thin ice over a pond.

Chara’s jaw fell open and they found themselves speechless.

“Because if you’re only here to appease Asriel… I know how this works. I’m not stupid. You may apologize now, to wave away whoever may have seen what you did, but you’ll do it again later. And worse. And it won’t stop, because you… you don’t really care, just like the rest of them.”

Still at a loss, they were barely able to regain their composition and look past the familiarity in their tone.

“I am sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, and I truly mean that.

Farah, you…” they tried to swallow their worry back down as it bubbled over their lips and into their voice. “You were a little specific back there. Is there anything you… need to say?”

“N-No. I’m sorry I talked back to you, I w-was just upset, that’s all. ’M sorry.”

Options danced through their mind. They could guilt them into a confession; they seemed vulnerable on this front, afraid of rejection from those they are close to.

 _We’re friends, aren’t we?_ I _would never hide anything from_ you _. I wasn’t mistaken, was I?_

 It would be far from kind of them, yes, but if their suspicions are correct, this would be for their own good.

 Last time they manipulated someone “for their own good” it didn’t turn out so well, however.

 

They have to build up a momentum within themselves before they can say it aloud, letting the words fester in their mind as silence hammered their ears.

“It’s about your parents, is it not?”

“…Yes.”

Their breathing stopped.

“They are cruel to you, aren’t they?”

Something that tried and failed to imitate laughter shook Farah’s shoulders. “They wish I was dead.”

Their vision started to fuzz around the edges.

“A-And it doesn’t matter what I tell anybody, because nobody ever believes me. I’m always out of the house, just so that I can get _away_ from them, so everyone assumes I’m always out h-hurting myself. What’s a bruise or a cut or a burn on an _adventurous_ kid, r-right?”

White static rang in their head, a meaningless cacophony of nothing spawned from a lack of words that could ever do them justice.

A sound small and soft brought them back to the store. It wasn’t until Farah sniffled again that they realize they were crying. They put a careful arm around their shoulder.

“T-Thank you so much for letting me stay here. It… it means so much to have somewhere safe.”

“Child, you will always be welcome here, for as long as you need. I promise you that.”

Farah leaned into their embrace. “Thank you.”

“I feel as if I may already know the answer, but have you contacted the police?”

“They wouldn’t believe me. They wouldn’t believe you either, ‘cause I’m your only source and I’m already on the record for giving ‘false reports’ with no evidence.”

They rattled off every curse word they knew beneath their breath, careful to make sure that Farah did not hear.

“How… how did you know? I never told on them.”

They bit their tongue to keep any memories away. “…Experience. I do not wish to talk about it. But, those feelings— the feeling that you’ll never be safe, or loved, or happy… I know those feelings. They have driven me to do things I regret to this day. I would not wish them upon anyone.

“Farah, I want you to know that if you ever feel as if you would not be safe at home, that Asriel and I would gladly let you spend the night, or nights, however long you need here. I do not want you getting hurt anymore.”

 

They remained quiet for what felt like ages, processing everything with care. At last, they nodded an answer to an unheard question and stammered, “Actually… u-um, I know I’ve sort of been asking a lot already, but do you think that… I could maybe stay here for a while after closing tonight?”

“Kid, for the billionth time,” Chara scoffed, “Absolutely.”

 

 

            Asriel stands and gives them a look of concern when they finally return to the counter.

“That, uh, took a while. Everything okay between you two?”

“Asriel, Farah is going to stay here for some time after closing. When they do leave, you and I need to have a talk.” They stress ‘talk’ in such a way to indicate that it’s the “ _Some serious shit is going down and you need to know”_ talk, instead of the usual “ _I’m a little mad at you I guess”._

“What… happened?”

“Look, I’ll tell you later. For now, I need a hug and some tea.” They didn’t think, or maybe just didn’t care, to wait for him to reciprocate the hug. Asriel, without any context, felt rather awkward when they locked him into a tender strangle-hold.

“Uh… there, there?” He had a feeling that some sort of tender moment had taken place, but he was out of the loop and stuck with patting them on the back in a manner that he hoped was reassuring. “Do you want me to make the tea?”

“No. No, I’ll do it. I think I need a moment alone to… probably to vomit. Fuck it; do we have any alcohol left?”

“Nope. Frisk cleaned us out last time they were here, remember?”

“Right. R-Right. Oh, goddamn this earth.” their knees gave out and they slumped against the wall. “We should have killed them all when we had the chance.”

 

 

            It’s nearing sun-down when Farah does finally leave. They insisted that they could make it to their house before sundown.

The upstairs portion of the store, the part that acts as a home, is smaller than one would assume from the shop below. The maze of shelves and books downstairs make the building seem rather labyrinthine, but the actual floor-space is lacking at best. It’s less of a house and more of an apartment that they don’t pay rent for or share with any neighboring tenants. The living room is flanked by two bedrooms that line the building’s exterior before it bleeds ungracefully into a kitchen shielded from the entryway across from it by a small island. The space fluctuates randomly between Chara’s strict regime of order and tidiness, and Asriel’s lack of giving much of a shit. The floors are sort of squeaky, the walls are painted a gloomy walnut brown and Chara’s positive that a certain mouse followed them out of the underground, now lives under the fridge and pilfers their cheese when they aren’t looking. Regardless, it’s their home, and one they happen to like. Irrelevantly, it also wouldn’t sell for a price high enough to buy anything better.

“Okay, so I’d wager that it’s ‘later’ by now.” Asriel began, seating himself on the couch next to them. “Mind telling me what happened? ‘Cause I’m still super confused.”

“I learned something horrible about Farah.”

“Have… they been swiping books the whole time?” He joked, nervously, unsettled by the sudden air of severity in their tone.

“Now isn’t the time for that, Asriel. It’s about their home life.”

Something thick and putrid settled into the atmosphere. It seemed to taint the air with a rotten smell, and lodged a painful knot into his gut. “What do you mean?”

“It could be said,” they stopped to take a deep breath that falters at its peak. “That they and I have more in common than I would have liked.”

“What are you…?” his memory flooded with legends of mountains that can make children disappear, and a reason to climb one that had never been stated. “Oh. Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Oh shit.”

“Are you sure that it’s as bad as you think?”

“They looked me right in the eyes and said to me, ‘what’s a cut or a bruise or a burn on an adventurous kid’. I’m pretty sure.”

“Fucking hell… what should we do?”

“What can we do? They’re already ‘on the record’ for trying to report them. There’s _nothing_ we can do. Because of course, of course there’s nothing we can do. Nothing anyone can do!” A growing hysteria bubbled within them.

“Hey, that’s not true, we can do something. We can keep making sure that they feel like they have a home here, a real one. Somewhere they’ll be safe, welcome. And even if they have to go back eventually, we can at least make sure they’re okay while they’re here. Right?”

They took another deep breath, shakier than the last. “…You’re right. We can continue to offer them that, at least. Keep an eye on them. It’s… It’s not fair. They don’t deserve this. Nobody does. It’s just not fair.”

“No,” he shook his head morosely. “It isn’t.

“Ah… look, we should try and get some rest. You’re clearly up— no, you’re not upset, you’re _furious_. Hell, I am too. But, there’s nothing to be done right now. No sense in…” he ran out of words with meaning and resorted to a vague hand gesture. “I don’t even know. I’m feeling rather tired, all of a sudden.”

 “That sounds like a good plan.” They whispered, nodding slowly in agreement.

“No buttercups this time, too.”

 

They snickered, despite everything.

“Jesus Christ, Azzy. That’s terrible.”

“You’re smiling."

“I’m as fucked up as that joke was, apparently. Stick to your own turf, dude. I’m the only one allowed to joke about that, ‘cause it happened to _me_. Them’s the rules.”

“Happened to _you_? You seemed pretty A-Okay with it at the time! If anything, I was the victim.”

“Have you any idea what it’s like to _shit blood?_ ”

“…Okay, point made.”

All the lights in the flat seemed to brighten a little with the atmosphere, putrid weight now dissipated through insensitive, distasteful and poorly-timed humor.

“Well,” they started, rising from the couch, “I will speak to you again in the morning, then.”

“Yep.” The ensuring goodnight hug and ‘I love you’s are clingier than normal, the sudden tonal shift still in the back of their minds.

“Sleep tight, and don’t let the severe emotional and psychological trauma induced night-terrors keep you awake screaming all night. Also, don’t let the bed-bugs bite; you may get a rash.”

“Of course… hey, Chara?”

“Yes?”

“Are you ever going to be comfortable talking about what happened to you, before?”

He felt them stiffen slightly. “Perhaps… someday. I understand that you feel as if it’s your job to fix all of my old problems. I understand that we’re supposed to be looking out for each other. And I understand that I don’t have to handle these things alone. But there are still some things that I’m simply not ready for.”

He nodded as much as he could without hitting his chin on their shoulder (this was actually quite a bit, because they were pathetically short in comparison).

“Alright. But I’m here for you, if ever you’re ready.”

“Yeah, yeah,” they dropped the sincerity in their tone the same way one drops a brick off a skyscraper, hoping to split an unlucky pedestrian’s skull open. “We love each other so much and we’ll always be there to act as some codependent DIY therapist for one another. Stop being so sappy, you’re making me sick.”

“Says the one who’s _still_ hugging me.”

“Fuck you, goodnight.”

 

 

…

_Tink._

_What’s tinking? That isn’t right. Is it rain? I remember rain, it was supposed to rain tonight. The rain’s here. It’s coming down too hard, it’s blasting away everything. Everyone’s gone again. The rain’s too strong. It’s my fault. I did this._

_Tink._

_I didn’t hear what they said. Was it, ‘get the door’? What door? I don’t see any doors. We’re on a mountain ridge, it’s sunny out. What a lovely day. Where’s the rain coming from? And why am I lying down?_

_Tink._

_I can feel my roots digging into the soil. But I don’t have roots anymore. This isn’t right. Where am I? Where_ —

Asriel emerged into lucidity with a start, tempted to gasp for air as if he had spent too long underwater. Gradually, the pieces of his mind all slid back into proper place, he could hear them click as they did so. He’s home. He’s in bed. It was, as the oft neglected clock said, 11:17 PM. Just another dream.

_Tink._

The noise, however, seemed to be real. Something hard tapping against glass. Curiously, he rose out of bed and walked to the window. It was, in fact, raining outside. Not particularly hard; a pleasant shower. Enough to hum a white-noise of pattering against the window and fill the night’s air with a cool petrichor, but not enough to—

 _Tink_.

—Make that sound. He caught a glimpse of what looked like a minuscule pebble falling back to the sidewalk. Following it, he looked down and saw a figure, limped strangely and waving up at him in desperation. It was hard to see clearly, but it appeared to be wearing a red and orange striped sweater.

“What the hell!?”

 He didn’t waste any time bolting out of his own room and banging on Chara’s door. They answered almost instantaneously, looking somber.

“Are you okay, Asriel? What’s wrong? Was it another— “

He interrupted in a panic. “It’s Farah, they’re outside!”

…

They didn’t waste any time, either. They shoved past him to run down the stairs into the darkness of the shop, leaving him to follow and get the lights, both their minds swimming with unspeakable what-ifs. When they got to the front door, Farah was already waiting for them, as usual. They’re standing this time, shivering in the cold.

Hands shaking, Chara was barely able to fit the key into the door’s lock and let them in.

“Farah, are you—

“Oh. Oh my god.”

A circle of swollen purple puffed in a ring around their left eye. Their sweater was torn, badly. The knees of their jeans had been ripped off. Rough cuts and scrapes, oozing crimson, lined the lengths of their arms and legs. There was another gash across their cheek. Their hair appeared to have been pulled and ripped. Bruises polka-dotted their skin.

Tears streamed down their cheeks and intermixed with wayward drops of cold midnight rain and warm nosebleed, pooling around their jawline and dripping off in little bursts as they struggled to speak.

“I-I’m s-sorry. She was mad b-b-because I was out s-so late. Thought I w-was t-telling on them a-again. She- she wouldn’t stop h-hitting me and he wasn’t even- even h-home yet so I broke the window and I ran and- and I didn’t know w-where else to go, you guys are my only friends and- and-”

Chara knelt and wrapped their arms around them, pulling them close as they rocked them gently back and forth. Words that they didn’t remember choosing to say spilled from them in shaky whispers.

“It’s okay now. You’re safe now. Nobody is going to hurt you ever again, I promise. You’re safe.”

“I w-was so scared…” They held on tight, afraid that something would grab them by the ankles and drag them away should they let go.

“I know, my child. I know.”

“I thought they were going to kill me…”

“They can’t hurt you anymore. I promise. I’ll protect you.”

The three of them remained still for some time. Farah’s still streaming face pressed into their shoulder, gradually soaking their pajamas. Asriel standing a few feet away, frozen in horror.

At long last, he finally spoke up, slow and steady.

“Chara, they’re bleeding, badly. We need to get them patched up. Right now.”

They remained reactionless for a moment more.

“Yes.” they started, steady and monotone, faking certainty. “We do. I will take them upstairs. I want you to get blankets, bandages and some disinfectant. Do so as quickly as possible.” They rose back to their feet, cradling Farah in their arms. On autopilot, they rushed upstairs, carried by legs they didn’t remember commanding to move.

They carefully set Farah down on the couch’s center cushion while Asriel rushed past them. He swiftly returned with a big fluffy white blanket from his bedroom, a roll of bandages from the bathroom and his phone, which he was hastily fumbling with in an attempt to turn on the camera.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take a few pictures, for evidence.”

They paused for thought, briefly. “Very well.”

He knelt down to Farah’s level and draped the blanket over their shoulders, trying not to notice how it had already begun to soak red. “Hey, kiddo, I know this probably isn’t what you want right now, but I need you to hold still for a minute, okay? I need to take some pictures for the police. It won’t take long, I promise. Then we can get you fixed up. You’re going to be okay, don’t worry.”

They hug the blanket tighter before nodding in understanding.

He wasn’t particularly thorough. Part of it was because he could barely even bring himself to look at them without feeling sick, another part was that even a single glance would be enough to tell the full story. Five should be enough to convince the police or whoever else that something needed to be done. He wanted to take comfort in the fact that it’s all over, that they’ll be safe from now on, but all he could think about was how many times this must have happened before. When they had nowhere. Nobody. It made him nauseous.

 In his peripherals he saw Chara get to work, applying small splashes of peroxide and robotically wrapping Farah’s arms and legs in a cocoon of white strips that gradually stained a dim, splotchy red. They quickly lost themselves in the familiar motions. He hadn’t been thinking much of them, too focused on the situation at hand. A mix of worry and curiosity that stirred within like something ill and curdled drove him to look at their face. Just to see.

They were blank, calm, in the same way that a grenade with a missing pin is blank and calm; there would be no shaking or simmering or rage before it went off. He could recognize the nothing all over their face, he could tell that they were putting something ugly together. He could see them grow a smile, marveling in how it was all so simple. They were panicked before, struggling with the reality, but they could see clearly now. This problem had a simple solution. A simple plan.

“Child. I want to know.” They stopped bandaging and chimed, flat and distant. Still holding their wrist.

Farah stopped sniffling and stared.

“Where do you live.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

“Chara, that’s not important right now!”

“Hush. I want to know where your home is, child. Tell me. That is all I want.” Their grip tightened.

“U-Um, I d-don’t…” They held the blanket closer.

“Where. Is. It.”

Fear rose in his chest as he nudged their shoulder. “Chara, hey, look at me. Look at me, goddamnit! Focus. This cut here, I think this one may need some extra gauze, it looks deep. Can you please to go the bathroom and get me some? I can take over.” 

They barely glanced at the wound he pointed at.

“No it doesn’t, it’s… it’s skin deep. Y-You’re right. You’re right, focus. Where,” they released a breath they forgot they’d been holding. “Where did I put the bandages?”

“Slow down, okay? You’re panicking. Count down from ten with me, okay?” He put his hand on their shoulder, to perhaps try and keep them steady.

“No, forget it, I’m fine! Don’t touch me! Just- where are the fucking bandages!?”

“You’re still holding them.”

A ghost of a whisper caught their attention. “W-What’s going on?”

They murmured to nobody.  “Everything is… everything is okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

His tone softened into something more sincere. “Please. Go get yourself some water, or more bandages, or whatever. You need a few minutes away from this.”

“Yes. I do. I’ll… I’ll go… I’ll be back in a few.” They struggled to stand at first, appearing as if they were about to crumple over and shatter into pieces. Slowly, they stumbled into the bathroom and quietly dragged the door closed behind them.

 

He gave a trembling sigh and looked at the floor.

“Farah, please give me your arm.”

They complied, placing their wrist in his palm. He continued where they had left off.

“…Are they alright?”

“I hope so.”

“That was about what h-happened to them, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Asriel, why… why did they want to know where my house was?”

“Don’t think about it.”

“If I had told them, w-what would they have—“

“I said don’t think about it.”

 

            They looked as if they had survived a car crash when he’s done. A white layer of gauze covered their limbs, thick like a cast in some spots, thin like mummy wrappings in others. Their bruises had all taken on a deep purple hue.

“There. You should be okay now, no more bleeding. For the bruises, I’m not sure. We have painkillers but I don’t know that it would be safe for you to take them. At the very least, I can offer you some tea.”

They nodded. “Tea would be really nice, thank you. The bruises don’t um, don’t hurt too much anymore. I’m sore all over but I think I’ll be okay now.”

The bathroom door gave a small whine as it drifted open, drawing their attention to Chara. They looked pale. Asriel thought they may have been vomiting, but he didn’t remember hearing anything. He noticed now, that they were stained with dry blood from earlier. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Chara, I’m going to make some tea. Do you want any?”

They looked up at him as if he were speaking a harsh foreign tongue. “Yes. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“Do you need anything else? You don’t look well.”

“No,” they assured to someone, it was not clear who. “I’m fine now. I’m fine.”

He nodded his head up and down _no_. “If you say so.” With that, he hovered off to the kitchen.

 

“How are you holding up?” They asked, falling onto the couch next to Farah.

“No more bleeding, but I’m… I’m really tired. Sore. S-Still a little afraid.”

“I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

They remained silent, blinking slowly.

“Asriel, he’s really good at…” their muttering trailed off as they tried to find a way around saying, “He’s really good at handling me when I get like that”. Even if ‘handling’ is almost exactly what he does. “He’s really good at calming me down. Don’t know how he does it. Frisk, too.”

“Who’s Frisk?”

“They’re… hmm. Let’s say that they’re a very, very close friend of mine. You may have heard of them, actually— they work as an ambassador for monster-human relations. They had quite the spotlight, back when we were both your age.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“They _are_ pretty cool. One day, I should tell you about the time Mettaton tricked them into being a detective for a week...” A fond nostalgia drained the weariness from them.

“Wait, _the_ Mettaton?”

“The one and only. He was sort of our uncle growing up. Well, more of an aunt, really. He’d take us for haircuts at his private salon and then sign some drive-through lady’s tits to get us free ice-cream.”

“He didn’t sign anyone’s tits,” Asriel corrected loudly from the kitchen, voice accompanied by the clinking of a teaspoon against ceramic. “It was always an album or their forearm or something.”

“No, remember that one time, there was that college girl who nearly fainted, and we had to cover Frisk’s eyes to stop them from looking?”

He returned to the couch, carrying a dinner plate with three steaming teacups on top.

“Oh, right. I remember now. Well, I can’t really blame them. She _did_ have a pretty great rack.”

Farah scoffed. “Maybe they should have been covering _your_ eyes, too.”

“Nah,” Chara dismissed, “I was looking as well. Only Frisk missed it. Sucks to be them, too. Yowza.”

Farah gave them a Look, unimpressed.

“It wasn’t quite what we were expecting when we ordered milkshakes.”

Chara snickered. Farah let loose an offended “Gross!”

Their disgust quickly faded, however, and was replaced by something more daring and fiendish. “Talk about rich, creamy flavor.” They boasted, causing Chara to spit-take a mouthful of scalding hot tea all over themselves.

 

            Farah passed out shortly after finishing their tea, finally having succumbed to the temptations of the blanket, now in desperate need of a wash, around their shoulders. Silently, Chara picked them up and carried them to their bed before tucking them in.

“Good night, my child.” They curse under their breath when they realize that they sound _exactly_ like Mom.

They take one last look through the door before easing it closed. As soon as the mechanism clicked shut, they slumped against the wall and let free a deep sigh.

“How are _you_ holding up?” Asriel asked them, concerned. “Things got a little rough back there.”

“A little? I’m a mess. I lost it, seriously lost it. Do you know what I was planning on doing?”

He didn’t find the courage to speak, even though he had an answer.

“I was going to go kill their parents. Didn’t even occur to me that it would be wrong to do so. Twenty years of walking on eggshells, of counting down from ten, of being almost _normal_ and I was about to send myself straight back to square one.”

“You wouldn’t have ever really done it. You were angry, not thinking straight.”

“No. I was angry before. I’m angry now. But then, then I was ecstatic. Because I had a plan that would end with a body count, and I was certain that they deserved it.”

“I would have stopped you.” He rasped, exhausted.

“You would have failed.”

“ _’Would have’_ — don’t bullshit me _._ I _did_ stop you. I’ll _always_ stop you. You aren’t going to hurt anybody, not while me or Frisk or Mom or Dad or Sans or _anyone_ else is still breathing. Stop saying things like that. Stop pretending that you’re still dangerous, because that’s a rotten lie and I’m fucking sick of hearing it!”

They stared at him, jaw loose and eyes wide.

“Look… do you remember that talk we had, way back when, about bad thoughts? How even if you have them, that doesn’t make you a bad person? What matters isn’t if you think about doing something or even plan on it, what matters is if you actually do it. We’ve had a clean record for twenty years. I think we’re in the clear, is all I want to say. Hell, I think even Sans trusts us, by now.”

They nodded, soberly. Still not saying anything. A century seemed to pass as both of them closed their eyes and took a moment to put themselves back together again.

“Asriel?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. We’ll all get some rest. Then, in the morning, we’re taking them down to the police station, and we’re going to end this. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you in the morning, then. Don’t forget your alarm clock again.”

“Right.”

“And… thanks… for being there.”

He stood from the couch and gave a faint smile.

“Always.”

 

 

…

 

 

            It was shining outside. Sun high in the sky. Perfect weather for a game of catch.

She drummed her fingers impatiently on a useless clipboard as she waited for her knock to be answered. She wasn’t holding it for anything; it’s just part of the uniform. To look scarier, in an official way.

Finally, the door peeled open, and on the other side stood a man staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to stop wasting his time.

“Sir, I’m with Social Services. Behind me, standing next to the squad car, are sergeants Owun and Otu.”

Something dawns on the man, and it shows in his face, now draining of color.

“Go get your wife. You’re both coming with us.”

 

…

 

            The sight of a police cruiser pulling up in front of the store later that day signals Chara and Asriel that they could finally stop twiddling their thumbs and get a status update. They stepped out onto the curb to meet Farah, giving 01 and 02, still in the car, an admiring nod as they do so.

“How did it go?”

“Good,” they assured. “It went well. They asked me a _lot_ of questions. It was, um, a little scary I guess but the lady who was questioning me was nice.”

“What’s the verdict?” Chara asked, hopefully. “Where are you going to be staying now?”

Their mood soured. “The lady, she said that she was looking into finding me a home. But… um, there’s no… vacancies anywhere near Ebott, so I… I don’t think I’m going to see you again for a long time. I’ll,” they sniffed and stared at their shoes, “I’ll try to come and visit sometime, i-if I can.”

 

Asriel and Chara exchanged a communicative glance. From inside the cruiser, 01 and 02 placed bets on what conclusions they had reached together.

Asriel knelt down and placed a delicate hand on their shoulder.

“About that… Chara and I talked it over, and…” he resisted the temptation to laugh when he said ‘talked it over’; in reality the conversation took about three seconds. “If you’d like, we would be happy to take care of you.”

They remained paralyzed with something unrecognizable for some time. He worried if he had maybe overestimated some things.

Slowly, their eyes started to mist over and they helplessly looked back and forth between the two before them. They nearly knocked him over when they suddenly jumped and locked him into the tightest hug their little noodle-arms could muster.

“I-I don’t… understand…” they began, struggling not to sob uncontrollably. “Why- Why are you being… s-so nice to me?”

01 grumpily handed 02 a $20 bill as Chara joined the hug party.

“Because we know what it’s like to ask that question.”

 

 

            The next day is rather busy— they have to bust open the savings jar to go and buy a new bed, first off. Chara donates their own room, as it was far cleaner and had way less shit in it that they’d have to move out. They aren’t looking forward to having to deal with Asriel’s snoring problem again, but they take some solace when they crank their alarm clock volume as high as it can go and angle it towards his bed, on the other end of the room. No more sleeping in.

Farah doesn’t have many possessions of their own to move in— a bunch of identical sweaters and their copy of _Kitchen_ , now looking far worse for wear. Chara considered that they should ask Mom if she still had any of their old clothes, but that’d mean telling her that they have a kid now and wow, were they not feeling up to that. Things have been too crazy lately, they reflected. They didn’t need to add Mom freaking out over (legally) being a grandmother on top of that. Speak not of Dad— he’d probably cry like a giant man-baby.

In general, they dreaded the parade of introductions that lay in their future. Perhaps, they wondered, they could convince Frisk and Dad to let them borrow the embassy for a weekend; throw a big “I don’t want to tell all you fuckers the same story thirty times” barbeque.

They nearly slapped themselves when they remembered that Frisk had asked to hang out that weekend. That weekend, of course, being about a day away. It was too late to cancel now- it’d break their needy little heart.

Dreadfully unsure of what they were going to say, they picked up their phone and called their friend-sibling. The first ring didn’t even have time to finish before they picked up.

_“Hi!”_

“Uh, hey, Frisk. So, listen, there’s… ah, I don’t know how to tell you this…”

_“…Tell me what? What did you do?”_

“Nothing, this time. I have good news, I guess. Well. mostly good— I’ll tell you the full story later. But, basically, when you get here, just a heads-up, Azzy and I are um, parents now.”

They squee’d, deafeningly. _“OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD! DID YOU TWO FINALLY—“_

“No, NO! For fu— No, goddamnit! We adopted them! Fucking hell, Frisk.”

 _“Aww.”_ It was very obviously an ‘aww’ of disappointment, not adoration.

“Don’t you make that disgusting sound at me. What part of ‘He’s my brother’ do you _still_ not understand?”

_“The part where that’s not biologically true.”_

“Yeah? You’re not ‘biologically’ my sibling, either, but we’re _close_ like siblings. Do you know what that means?”

_“It means that we could totally—“_

“IT MEANS!” they shouted to block out the rest of their sentence, catching the attention of everyone else in the room. “THAT IT WOULD BE WEIRD!”

_“Whatever you say. We’re still on for this weekend though, right?”_

“Yes, of course. We’ll all be here. Again, just wanted to let you know beforehand.”

_“Cool. Looking forward to meeting them! Anyway, I gotta go- ambassador stuff.”_

“See you then.”

_“Love ya!”_

“Uh-huh. Bye.” They shook their head and dropped their phone back onto the counter.

Asriel stared at them from the couch, unsure of whether to be concerned or amused.

“What was that all about?”

“Frisk is gross.”

Amused it was. “I hear bears still shit in the woods, too.”

Farah nudged him in the arm. “S-Swear jar! You’re tarnishing my fragile innocence!”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I guess we should bring that back, huh?”

“Absolutely not. Sorry Farah, but you’re going to grow up to be a potty-mouth. We have no self-control.”

 

           

            They can’t help but feel productive by bed-time, even if they made Asriel do most of the work; it’s not every day that they re-structure almost their entire house (read: two rooms. But that’s like, half of all their rooms. So whatever).

“It’s a little… sparse, right now, but how do you like your room?” They asked, tucking Farah in.

“I love it! It’s, well, a lot bigger than my old one. An actual bed, too! Luxurious.”

“Glad to hear. Perhaps not the part about having no bed before, that’s…” they shook their head in disgust. “No matter. We’ll have to find you a book-shelf; one of the perks of running the store is that you get to cherry-pick all the best stuff from the new inventory.” They gazed longingly at one of the blank walls, imagining a shelf lined with yellow-stained paperbacks. One day, soon.

“Hey, um, Chara…”

“Yes?”

Diffidently, they attempted to speak. “Is it alright… um, if I… if I call you ‘mom’?”

They hummed in consideration. “I don’t know that it would be my first choice of title.”

A guilty look overtook Farah’s face as they wondered if they may be out-stepping certain boundaries.

“But, you may call me whatever you like!” With that, they tousled Farah’s hair, exchanged a fond smile and walked to the door.

“Goodnight, mom.”

“Goodnight, my child. Sleep well.”

They immediately regret accepting the designation, because oh boy, is Asriel going to give them shit for it. He’ll probably insist that they learn to bake butterscotch-cinnamon pie (without causing near-fatalities), just to finally complete the circle.

But, they think that’s alright. They’ve sort of always wanted to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my friends for finding the time to proofread this thing. Also to you, for finding the time to regular read it.


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